| To be someone must be a wonderful thing
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| A famous footballer a rock singer
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| or a big film star, yes I think I would like that
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| To be rich and have lots of fans
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| have lots of girls to prove that I’m a man
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| And be No. 1 — and liked by everyone
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| Getting drugged up with my trendy friends
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| They really dig me and I dig them
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| And the bread I spend — is like my fame — it’s quickly diminished
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| And there’s no more swimming in a guitar shaped pool
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| no more reporters at my beck and call
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| no more cocaine it’s only ground chalk
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| no more taxis now we’ll have to walk
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| But didn’t we have a nice time —
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| didn’t we have a nice time
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| Oh wasn’t it such a fine time
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| I realize I should have stuck to my guns
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| instead shit out to be one of the bastard sons
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| and lose myself — I know it was wrong — but it’s cost me a lot
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| And there’s no more drinking after the club shuts down,
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| I’m out on me arse with the rest of the clowns
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| It’s really frightening without a bodyguard
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| so I stay confined to my lonely room |